The latter half of reviewing Li Mingmian’s wedding photos became a bit tense when Zhao Jing grew serious.
Ever since he had spotted the photo showing only half of a head, he stopped hiding his discomfort and stared fixedly at the camera in Wei Jiayi’s hands, methodically searching for traces of himself in every shot.
Seated to Wei Jiayi’s right, Zhao Jing seemed reluctant to get too close but still insisted on leaning over to look. At the same time, he kept his left elbow propped on the backrest of the sofa as if to create a barrier between himself and Wei Jiayi. This made Wei Jiayi feel cramped, forcing him to move back several times.
It was clear that expecting Zhao Jing to understand others’ expressions was almost impossible. Whenever Wei Jiayi shifted away, Zhao Jing would move forward on his injured leg to get a better look.
The atmosphere grew increasingly chilly as it became apparent that Zhao Jing wasn’t in any of the photos. Wei Jiayi knew exactly why. During the wedding, he had deliberately avoided taking pictures of Zhao Jing. The fact that Zhao Jing had even managed to spot the back of his head in one shot was the result of Wei Jiayi’s oversight. However, with the tension mounting, Wei Jiayi couldn’t find a good moment to explain. Left with no choice, he flipped through the photos, pretending to help Zhao Jing in his search.
Even Li Mingcheng couldn’t bear the suffocating mood and quickly found an excuse to slip away, leaving Wei Jiayi to handle the pressure alone.
The photos eventually reached those taken during the post-ceremony dinner. By then, Wei Jiayi had been seated far from Zhao Jing, making it even less likely that he would appear in any of the shots.
After flipping through two more pictures, Wei Jiayi glanced at Zhao Jing and confessed with a resigned sigh, “Let’s stop here. Honestly, I didn’t take any photos of you that day because I didn’t dare to. With Mingcheng around, I was too embarrassed to say it.”
Zhao Jing froze, seemingly surprised by the reason. He took a moment to recall their first meeting, and the tension in the air eased slightly. He let out an “Oh.”
But after a brief pause, he still seemed unwilling to accept the explanation. “You even managed to accidentally capture the flower arrangement.”
“That wasn’t on purpose. It slipped into the frame on its own during the setup.” Wei Jiayi was caught off guard that Zhao Jing still remembered the flower arrangement.
Zhao Jing remained unconvinced.
Wei Jiayi was starting to think that Zhao Jing was being unreasonable. Homophobic and yet overly concerned about Pan Yifei, someone completely unrelated. Did he truly believe that if Wei Jiayi had a crush five years ago on an actor Zhao Jing considered ugly and low-class it could somehow taint the air around him?
Maybe Zhao Jing was just used to being the center of attention and couldn’t bear the thought of being overshadowed by a flower arrangement. With this thought in mind, Wei Jiayi decided not to further deflate his ego. Instead, he patiently analyzed, “You were sitting at the main table, not mingling with the crowd. Even if I’d wanted to accidentally include you in the frame, it would’ve been impossible.”
Zhao Jing lowered his eyes, staring at him for a few seconds before glancing away. “Got it.”
Wei Jiayi suspected that his standing in Zhao Jing’s mind had taken a nosedive. That wasn’t the main issue, though—the real problem was that Zhao Jing seemed unhappy, and Wei Jiayi had no idea how to coax him. He could only offer, “I didn’t do a great job with the wedding photos anyway. How about I take some photos of you separately later?”
“I don’t like being photographed,” Zhao Jing replied coolly. Then, standing up, he slowly hobbled out of the room.
There wasn’t much Wei Jiayi could do. He stayed on the sofa, sorting through the photos, preparing to delete the unwanted ones, back up the rest, and charge the camera. But as he scrolled through the pictures, he unexpectedly found Zhao Jing in one of the banquet shots.
The photo had been taken during Li Mingmian and the bride’s dance. The main table was in the background, and when zoomed in, Zhao Jing’s profile could be seen in a gap between the other guests.
Thanks to the camera’s excellent resolution, the details were clear even at maximum zoom. Zhao Jing was obviously disinterested in eating, his phone glowing on the table as he checked his messages. The lighting on his face was complex, but his handsome features made it look almost like a close-up portrait.
Thinking of Zhao Jing’s lonely and disappointed figure as he left, Wei Jiayi snapped a photo of the camera’s screen and sent it to Zhao Jing with a message: “Found one.” He hoped it would cheer him up a little.
Zhao Jing didn’t reply, as Wei Jiayi had expected.
After sorting through the camera, Wei Jiayi transferred the remaining photos to a hard drive. He made a point of cropping the photo of Zhao Jing’s profile on his computer, making a few edits, and then sending it over with a cheeky message: “President Zhao looks way more handsome than everyone else, so I cropped this just for you as a keepsake.” He didn’t mention that the original photo’s main focus had been Li Mingmian’s dance.
After sending the message, Wei Jiayi went to take a shower. When he returned, there were no replies. Just as he was about to go to bed, he noticed that although Zhao Jing hadn’t responded, he had already changed his profile picture. Wei Jiayi couldn’t help but smile.
Zhao Jing seemed utterly predictable, yet his words and actions often left others stunned. He was hard to understand, yet also surprisingly easy to understand.
Wei Jiayi thought: If everything in the world were as simple, direct, clever, and blunt as Zhao Jing, the world would either become a paradise or be completely destroyed.
The next morning, Wei Jiayi arrived at the forest, where the mayor was already waiting at the entrance. Driving an old sedan, the mayor took Wei Jiayi to the residential area. Along the way, they passed mountains shrouded in green nets. During their conversation, Wei Jiayi learned that the mayor had also lost family members in the tsunami, who were still missing.
Compared to last week, the situation in the houses was much more organized. Though the land was still a field of rubble, most of the bodies that had been lined up along the roadside had now been laid to rest.
Where excavators were working, there were still occasional shrouds, but hardly anyone sat by the road weeping anymore.
After a brief introduction, the mayor went off to assist others, leaving Wei Jiayi to explore on his own. He took many photos of the surroundings: Still-standing load-bearing columns, shattered windows, mementos of happy families unearthed from the mud, broken dinner plates, ceramic cups, and birth certificates encased in photo frames.
A surviving mother and her son stood in front of the remaining wall of what once had been their dining room. They asked Wei Jiayi to take a photo of them. After yesterday’s rain, the wallpaper’s patterns were washed clear, revealing a green totem-like design. Upon closer inspection, the surface was uneven.
Wei Jiayi photographed parts of the surviving homes before heading toward a beach frequented by the residents. There, he took photos of a rooftop carried in by the tsunami.
After days of tidal ebb and flow, the triangular rooftop’s faded red tiles had started to show again. It lay partially buried in the sand as if it had always belonged there.
The dirt in the lagoon had settled, and the water, losing its muddy hue, revealed shades of blue and green once more.
Around noon, a few children ran to the edge of a rocky cliff above the beach where Wei Jiayi was. They rested there, sitting on the cliff’s edge. From below, Wei Jiayi captured an image of their swinging legs and the biscuits they held in their hands. After spending the entire morning in a somber mood, this simple scene quickly rekindled his hope for life.
Around two o’clock, the mayor came to find him, reminding Wei Jiayi that he hadn’t eaten yet. The mayor took him to the nearest relocation site and handed him a meal. As Wei Jiayi ate a few bites, he pulled out his phone and noticed several unread messages.
Two friends had asked about donation logistics, his agent had sent updates about upcoming work, and his assistant wanted to know if he had confirmed his return date so they could arrange airport pickup.
Then there was a message from Zhao Jing, sent at noon: “Everything going smoothly?” followed by: “Li Mingcheng asked. He doesn’t have his phone.” Zhao Jing was now using the profile picture Wei Jiayi had cropped and sent to him the night before. Wei Jiayi could sense his cold tone.
The final message was from Pan Yifei, whom Wei Jiayi hadn’t spoken to in a long time: “Jiayi, are you still on Buderus Island?”
Wei Jiayi first replied to his friends, agent, and assistant before responding to Zhao Jing: “Going smoothly. How about you?”
Zhao Jing replied: “I’m busy teaching a kid.” He sent a video to Wei Jiayi, capturing Lini’s head from above. Lini had his hand on the lever of the excavator while Zhao Jing instructed him: “Move it forward.” Lini gave it a cautious nudge. Zhao Jing taught him the technique in a low voice: “Push it with confidence.” The video ended there.
Zhao Jing managing to find space to film in such a tiny excavator was no small feat. Wei Jiayi couldn’t resist replying: “Great teacher, great student. Lini’s learning so quickly—no need to worry about President Zhao’s excavator skills being lost to time.”
Zhao Jing immediately responded: “I learned faster when I was his age.”
Then, he added: “If only he could get operable construction equipment. Without it, refining his skills will be difficult.” This was clearly a jab at how Wei Jiayi had stopped him back then.
Wei Jiayi couldn’t help but laugh at Zhao Jing’s mix of competitiveness and childishness. Before he could type a response, Zhao Jing sent another message: “I’m going back to teaching. Li Mingcheng said he’ll pick you up after we’re done at six. Meet us at the post office.”
Wei Jiayi replied, “Okay,” put his phone away, and continued taking photos, leaving the remaining messages unanswered.
At the agreed time, Wei Jiayi arrived at the post office, where Li Mingcheng’s car was already waiting.
Through the car window, Wei Jiayi noticed Zhao Jing occupying the rear right seat. His immobile left leg was stretched out across the middle seat, allowing him to hold onto the car’s overhead handle. This way, even on the bumpy ride, he wouldn’t need to rely on Wei Jiayi for support.
Once the car started moving, the uneven road forced Zhao Jing to grip the handle tightly, remaining silent. Meanwhile, Li Mingcheng chatted with Wei Jiayi, mentioning that they’d dug up a safe today. Nick had delivered it to the surviving members of the family it belonged to. Li Mingcheng then asked how Wei Jiayi’s photography had gone.
“It’s been a while since I’ve done human-interest photography,” Wei Jiayi admitted honestly. “I’m not sure if the mayor and the others will find it satisfactory.”
“I’ll take a look when we get back,” Zhao Jing suddenly chimed in, inserting himself into the conversation. His tone carried the air of someone who had once judged a prestigious photography competition.
Wei Jiayi glanced at him. Zhao Jing had tensed every muscle in his body to maintain his balance, the veins on the back of his hand standing out, tracing their way to his forearm. Yet he stubbornly kept his tone flat.
“Alright, I’ll show you both.” Wei Jiayi smiled before asking with concern, “How’s your leg today? Did you overexert it?”
Zhao Jing denied it.
Later, Li Mingcheng enthusiastically praised how good Zhao Jing had been with Lini. He unintentionally mentioned how Zhao Jing had reignited his dream of getting an excavator for Lini, even going so far as to consult Nick about the location of the new residences. In the end, Zhao Jing had reluctantly abandoned the idea due to safety concerns.
Before long, they arrived at the guesthouse.
Although Zhao Jing had positioned himself to use the car’s handle for support, getting out was still inconvenient. He had to first plant his crutch firmly on the ground, lower his right leg, then shuffle forward to make enough room to move his left leg out of the car.
Wei Jiayi walked around to his side and asked, “Do you want me to help you?”
Zhao Jing looked at him, hesitating for once. With one hand pressed against the car door, he said, “No need,” and got out on his own.
Wei Jiayi’s feelings were mixed. On the one hand, he thought it was better for Zhao Jing to entrust his hefty weight to the car door. On the other hand, the situation felt awkward.
Most people’s homophobia wasn’t as overt as Zhao Jing’s. Just yesterday, Zhao Jing had no problem asking for help with bathing, yet now he avoided Wei Jiayi like the plague. Wei Jiayi was merely attracted to the same sex—it wasn’t as though he carried a contagious virus.
Over the past few days, Wei Jiayi had learned a crucial lesson: never take Zhao Jing’s self-centered behavior personally.
Without a word, he followed Zhao Jing inside.
Dinner was once again arranged to suit Zhao Jing’s preferences, featuring a more elaborate menu. The chef had prepared a French meal using locally available ingredients. Zhao Jing occasionally glanced at Wei Jiayi out of the corner of his eye and noted how intently he was eating, barely lifting his head.
After dinner, Li Mingcheng initially planned to join their photo-viewing session, but a phone call pulled him away for work. Zhao Jing sat beside Wei Jiayi, assuming the same posture as the previous night when they had reviewed photos together.
Balancing between getting a clear view of the photos on the camera and avoiding physical contact with Wei Jiayi proved somewhat challenging for Zhao Jing. Fortunately, his upper body strength made it manageable—something not everyone could have been able to pull off.
Wei Jiayi held the camera in both hands, leaning slightly toward Zhao Jing as he introduced the photos he had taken during the day. The images showcased sections of homes, complete structures, and portraits of residents with various expressions, all captured authentically as they faced the camera.
After viewing a few photos, Zhao Jing was about to offer a small compliment when Wei Jiayi shifted his posture slightly, unintentionally creating more distance between them.
To maintain their earlier proximity, Zhao Jing instinctively leaned closer.
Wei Jiayi suddenly looked at him, hesitation flickering in his eyes for a few seconds before he finally spoke. “President Zhao, the way you’re holding your arm—it’s a bit cramped on my side. If you’re trying to avoid touching me, why don’t you hold the camera yourself instead?”
Zhao Jing hadn’t realized his arm was crowding Wei Jiayi. He lowered it without taking offense and democratically asked for his input, “Without the arm between us as a barrier, we’ll be sitting very close. If you can accept that, I can put it down.”
Wei Jiayi froze momentarily, his eyes showing a hint of bewilderment before he seemed to understand. “Oh, it’s fine. I can accept that.” Then, he added, “President Zhao, I didn’t expect your personal moral standards to be so high.”
Wei Jiayi had finally recognized his intentions. Zhao Jing felt no further strain from holding up his arm and agreed with his statement, “My company conducts workplace sexual harassment prevention campaigns every quarter.” Setting a good example was essential to maintaining a positive work culture.
Wei Jiayi lowered his head, moving the camera closer to Zhao Jing’s face. With Zhao Jing’s arm no longer acting as a barrier, the two sat much closer than before. Wei Jiayi, having showered before dinner, was wearing a sleep T-shirt. Its thin fabric revealed his slender shoulders, narrower than even Zhao Jing’s hands.
Wei Jiayi’s white fingers pressed on the camera’s touch buttons, and his elbow occasionally brushed against Zhao Jing’s abdominal muscles. In fact, it was a bit too close, and every place Wei Jiayi touched seemed to leave an unusual sensation. Yet, it wasn’t a discomfort that made Zhao Jing want to pull away.
In a low voice, Wei Jiayi said, “…Later in the afternoon, I found out this roof belonged to Lini’s neighbor.”
Zhao Jing was suddenly reminded of the brief touch of Wei Jiayi’s fingers on his face earlier.
“See, the tiles are red.” Wei Jiayi zoomed in and turned to explain.
Zhao Jing listened to him speak, wondering if Wei Jiayi had ever explained his photos like this to someone else. By the refrigerator in the rented apartment, beside the stainless steel security bars, the thought of someone else standing close to Wei Jiayi while listening to his explanation suddenly made Zhao Jing acutely aware of his own heartbeat—a heavy, pounding rhythm filled with distinct, unmistakable irritation. In that instant, a sudden urge overwhelmed him: to destroy the entire collection of photos and ensure they would never appear in any corner of the world.
Translator’s note:
Happy New Year!! 🎉🥳
Omg Zhao Jing is hilarious
Thanks for the chapter <33333